Disclaimer: I don't own GS/GSD.
Chapter 16
The office was quiet, simply because he wasn't typing. If he had been, then the whirring of the cogs somewhere in the machines and the sound of the contact his fingers made with the keys might have distracted him from his thoughts.
And that would have been the easy wasy out. Getting himself distracted so the situation present before him would never appear to be present in the first place.
But it was too dangerous, too dangerous recently, and Athrun couldn't afford it any longer. The full effects of the past half-year seemed to warp and twists themselves, arranging themselves securely onto his back, until he had to breathe heavily and lean back into his seat to find some release or respite, either of which, today, seemed to be sorely lacking.
In the end, he had still come back here.
Perhaps it had been the cold shoulder she had turned to him, and perhaps it had been neccessary, but perhaps it was escapism, frankly, Athrun didn't know. Perhaps he didn't want to know.
When he had left in the morning, he had tried to check on Cagalli, but she had locked the door. He wondered if she had been awake when he had knocked gently once and tried to turn the door open but found it locked.
That had stung, almost as if she had dealt him a blow across his cheek with her not-so-insubstantial strength. Of course, Athrun, reasoned quietly, that would have been normal, he had been sleeping in another room after the trauma she had gone through, perhaps she had locked the door to the room as a sort of cultivated habit. She hadn't protested, perhaps she had been too traumatised and numbed when he had first brought her back to the house, she had been an empty shell then, naturally and most likely, Cagalli would have encountered difficulty expressing anything to him.
But then, something reminded him insistently, that had been nearly a year ago, she was supposed to have gotten past all that.
Once, he had caught her drinking, and he had prevented himself from saying anything, because she had recovered, physically, from the miscarriage, and he knew people drank to get drunk, and got drunk to forget. He hadn't joined her; he had simply kept mum and heard her sobbing brokenly to herself in her room. But that was fine. If she wanted an outlet for the pain, she'd get one.
So the days had continued with the lack of contact, communication, and now, Athrun wondered if it had been his fault for it all.
And when he got home, the silence worsened.
It was difficult to be able to not think.
And the sound of silence was more nauseating than ever.
'An oxymoron,' Athrun thought irritably, staring at Cagalli, who was silently ignoring him, her fingers flying furiously over the keyboard as she worked.
"Do you want to go somewhere tonight?" He asked, more mildly than he really felt.
She didn't even bother glancing up to acknowledge him. "No, thank you."
He felt irrationally irritable, although he had his own justified cause deep within. She hadn't spoken more than a few sentences to him, each day, throughout the months that had passed, and he could sense something terrible worsening. He was trying to bring her back, but she wasn't letting him.
But Athrun tried again. "It's fine. Are you rushing to meet a deadline?"
She paused, her fingers stationary in the air. "No."
Then she continued, her face a little cast down but with that grim pride he had seen, more than a few times in the months she had shown herself to be changed in. And he felt as if something had stretched and snapped in him, and he raised his voice slightly.
"What's wrong?"
She pressed a few keys and stood to leave; although her eyes had darkened and he had seen her lips quiver a second ago. But she pushed past him, quite listlessly, and managed to say in a hollow voice, "I'm fine."
"You aren't," he insisted desperately, pulling her wrists to him, "Tell me. Speak to me. Anything."
"You're not rushing to meet a deadline, are you?" She mimicked suddenly, pushing with a surprising force to free herself, and his eyes widened at the implications of her words, although his grip was still strong.
"No. What do you mean by that?"
She looked up very suddenly and glared into his face. He saw his reflection in amber, and likewise, she saw herself projected in emerald.
"It's been a year, Athrun. I was wondering when you would be available enough to speak to me. I know that you were as traumatised as I was after the miscarriage-"
She calmly watched him flinch, and continued blithely, "And I knew you left me alone because you were wounded yourself. In case you haven't noticed, I'm tired of waiting for a miracle. This was a mistake from the start, wasn't it? We haven't had quarrels after the loss, but sometimes I think that would have been more normal than the unnatural silence in this house that has been left for a year."
"Look," He said impatiently, "That was in the past, stop recalling all the unpleasant things and move on. If you wanted to talk about it, you should have said something earlier. A year's been sufficient time, you-"
"You don't understand, do you? I don't want to be anywhere near you anymore," She interrupted tiredly; "Don't you understand that we've fallen out of feelings?"
She took a deep breath, and he noticed the pain in her face.
'Then don't continue,' he cried to himself, 'Don't say anymore.'
"A year and a half's gone by without us really speaking to each other, "she said tiredly, "And life's gone on perfectly fine, at least for me, it's gone on fine. Truth be told, I've gotten used to all of the silence, and it's obvious that we don't really need to- need each other as much as we- thought we might have."
She looked at the floor and her voice trembled a little.
And he felt as if she had punched him in the gut with all the strength he and she combined would ever have. But the pride in her face and eyes, the look of her trying not to be wounded even though she had clearly been, because of him, riled an anger and sorrow in his veins.
'Don't say it,' his mind pleaded, 'Don't say it.'
He wondered for a brief second, if his thoughts had manifested upon his face, because the grim pride in her face faltered for a second and she looked confused, bewildered even, and she opened her mouth to say something but closed it foolishly and looked like a lost child.
"Tonight," he promised, still gripping her wrists and looking at her, "You will come with me."
"No," She protested, "I don't want to go."
"You will," he said, now coldly, "but you will for my sake and yours. Now go."
He let go of her and she stumbled a little, and he was glad in a warped sense, to see the anger of being ordered against her will blossom throughout her features. Better anger than numbed silence. She strode out and didn't slam the door- she had become too much a grown-up for that, and he suddenly wondered if she had been correct. That they were a mistake of some unintelligible nature.
As they sat in the restaurant, filled with important people whom Athrun recognised, or at least, some of them, he periodically stole glances at Cagalli. She had retreated into her sullen mode again and held her tongue so insistently that he had been very rarely inclined to make an attempt at conversation. But logically, he thought with a sigh, with the way he had just ordered her about, it would have been tackling a tiger with a wooden twig for a weapon.
She looked very pretty, although he had been slightly irritated at her choice of colour. Black flattered her coloring immensely, that he understood, and in a restaurant like this where the important literati of the day met regularly, it was not intelligent to make an overbearing statement with overstated colours. But black- he did not appreciate her attempt to irritate him with the colour he had told her he disliked once. Her neck was bare although the ring was present on her finger- for public appearances, he supposed. But he knew, very clearly, and very consciously, that she hadn't been wearing it for a long time.
And the presence of the ring on her finger meant less than the absence of the string around her neck.
"Anything else, sir?" the waiter asked sanctimoniously.
"No," he forced out courteously, but thought sardonically, 'I'd like a miracle too.'
"Wait," Cagalli said suddenly, "I want a change of seats to the centre, not the corner we are at presently."
They both stared at her. He was famous for his dislike of overt attention, and always requested for cosy corners where eyes could not pry their privacy away, and Cagalli had understood this, welcomed it even, but now-
Feeling incredibly angered but helpless in his frustration he nodded to show his assent and an instant later, they were guided from the dimmer, less harsh lights, into the centre of the large hall where eyes turned to look at them. She ignored these and sat down gracefully, and he nodded to show his acknowledgement of the other diners and ignored them even after they had returned the gesture.
The lights thankfully, were dimmed somewhat at another person's request, and soft music from a quartet began to play as a few couples stood up and guided themselves to the floor to dance, but all this mollified Athrun very little.
He ate in silence, and so did she. The privacy had been broken and he had lost his chance to speak privately to her, all her doing.
"How's the dinner?" He asked once.
"You're having the same one; I suppose you'd know better than me."
She looked darkly at him and drank from her goblet.
"Generally," Athrun retorted tightly, using the knife with more force than usual, "When a person asks if the meal is pleasing when he's having the same one, it means he bothers enough to ask for the other person's opinion."
She glowered at him again.
"Don't let's be childish," He said in a hushed voice, "We can talk through this like grown-ups."
Her eyes turned derisive and she flinched involuntarily, but he was too wounded and too proud to care. And so was she.
"I'm going home," she said abruptly, "I need to finish something."
"No you don't," Athrun warned softly, putting his knife down nevertheless, "You're just putting yourself against me, aren't you?"
She looked astounded, and then her eyes narrowed, "You're not worth talking to."
And she laid an angry, shaking hand against her bag and looked ready to rise, but he stopped her with a steady hand on her shaking one.
"You won't go yet," He said poisonously, "Not yet."
And he stood up, grasped her hand, and pulled her to the floor. The minute he led her into his arms, he felt something shatter in his chest as he looked at her eyes, suspicious and hateful. Those around them, in the now dim light as the soft music played, waltzed on, they did not notice the tension as he forced her into an initially ungainly step and gradually, a more relaxed one, although she held his shoulders gingerly still. He wondered if he would be able to atone for the mistake, and if he could persuade her to listen. And he stole a glance at her, she was staring at a spot behind him, and her eyes were nervous and she was biting her lip. A sense of frustration rose in him, and it was all he could do to keep from going insane by simply continuing to hold her.
"I want to go home after this," She said helplessly, in a sort of hushed whisper, a mixture of half-longing and shame, "I don't want to be here."
"Because of me?" He said softly, his breath tickling her ear, pressing her closer, an unspoken promise of sorts that he prayed she would accept. But-
She hesitated, and her thoughts spun like cotton. A shiver lightly traveled upwards, but she remembered then, the silence in the house, she, alone, sitting quietly, trying not to cry, and trying to be strong. And he would come back and give her a wan smile and she would try to say something and he wouldn't bother listening and tried not to see the pain in her eyes. She had gotten past all that- she didn't want to risk that again. But would she risk telling him now?
Then she looked at him fearlessly for a second.
"Yes," she said simply.
His breath hitched up this throat and he let go of her like he had touched a poisonous spider. She stumbled back a little, and with something like fear in her eyes, she half-ran to the table, took her things, and fled, ignoring the attendant who called out to her.